


Feeling Small

by ladygizarme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, Pre-Series (Supernatural), Pre-Slash, Pre-Stanford Era (Supernatural), Sam Winchester Has Nightmares, Teenchesters, Weechesters, gencest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29469690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygizarme/pseuds/ladygizarme
Summary: Sam longs to close the distance between them and burrow into Dean, but he hesitates. He’s almost seventeen and logically he knows it’s weird to still be seeking his brother’s reassurance just because he had a nightmare.[podfic included]
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 137





	Feeling Small

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't let Valentine's Day pass without writing something fluffy with our boys, though this isn't actually Valentine's themed at all.

If you would like to listen to the podfic for this story, it can be found [here on mediafire](http://www.mediafire.com/file/082n07h0ruin390/Feeling+Small_ladygizarme.mp3/file), or [on box.com](https://app.box.com/s/wownrwkthwp308dccvn61rner80ye643).

File size: 6.96 mb; Length: 10:39

~*~

Sam wakes with a start, the details of his nightmare quickly melting away, leaving only the residue of anxiety and fear and blood; his heart racing; pulse pounding in his ears, with only the vaguest notions as to why. He’s turning towards Dean before he realizes it, searching for the familiar comfort of his brother as he’s always been able to. Only belatedly does he remember they’re in separate beds. It’s been awhile since he’s had a nightmare like this, and Sam’s recent growth spurts have pretty much necessitated more mattress space for both of them. The realization of it now sinks in Sam’s stomach like a stone.

Sam focuses his gaze in the direction of Dean’s bed, waiting for his eyes to pick out his brother’s form. Dean is turned away from him on his side, facing the door to their motel room like a sentinel. Sam can’t really see details in the grainy gray of the twilight hour, but he can tell that the blanket is pulled over Dean’s shoulder. He knows Dean is shirtless underneath it, because he went to bed when he was still overly warm from his shower. No doubt Dean’s hand is near the gun under his pillow.

Sam longs to close the distance between them and burrow into Dean, but he hesitates. He’s almost seventeen and logically he knows it’s weird to still be seeking his brother’s reassurance just because he had a nightmare. Dean would probably allow it right now, but he wouldn’t let Sam hear the end of it in the morning. Besides, it’s been a good six months since they’ve started sleeping in separate beds on a more regular basis, and Dean might just be out of the habit enough by now to pull his gun on Sam in a partially-woken state.

The only sounds in the room are Dean’s soft almost-snores and the slightly rattley drone of the heater unit. No grizzly-like snores from dad, so Sam doesn’t even have to look at the cot in the corner to know if he’s come back yet. He realizes then that he’s been holding his breath, and lets it out slowly and shakily, trying to re-regulate it without gasping, subsequent breaths a muffled staccato.

“ Sammy,” Dean grumbles sleepily, apparently sensing Sam’s distress.

It startles Sam into taking a deep breath, and it’s like the rush of oxygen breaks through his petrifying doubt. Suddenly he’s out of his bed and crossing to Dean’s, lifting Dean’s blankets and sliding in behind him. Dean stays still despite the bed’s shifting as Sam settles in, pulling the blanket back up over their shoulders. Despite Dean’s shirtless state, his skin is warm. Sam squeezes himself close to Dean’s back, arms pulled in against his chest and Dean’s back, legs folding in behind Dean’s in an attempt to make himself smaller. Sam leans in and presses his forehead between Dean’s shoulder blades, breathing in the comforting scents of Dean’s soap and deodorant and sleep warmth.

The familiar smell and closeness soon has Sam matching his breathing to Dean’s, body calming down from his high alert state. But as he calms, he starts to ache at the slightly awkward position he’s put himself in; trying to still be the little spoon from the big spoon position. He could easily put his arm around his brother’s body to get more of the contact he craves right now, but that would shatter the illusion he wants to preserve that Dean is still larger than life compared to him; that he can engulf Sam in his big-brotherly protection and Sam will know everything is okay— _will be_ okay.

Sam’s not as small as he used to be compared to Dean—they’re practically the same height now, though Dean still has more muscle and confidence in his body compared to Sam’s awkward lankiness—and as much as he likes to tease Dean about it most of the time, sometimes the thought will hit Sam suddenly that he’ll never be smaller than Dean like that again. It makes his heart ache with a regret he can’t quite put into words.

Now is one of those times. He’s hyperaware of every uncomfortably _too big_ point of contact: his bony elbows against the small of Dean’s back; his knobby knees at a not-quite-natural cant behind Dean’s so they don’t dig in; his feet carefully tucked together; his whole body tense from noticing and holding the position.

He doesn’t realize his breaths have gotten unsteady again until he feels Dean’s fingers digging soothingly into his hair, against his scalp, despite the slightly awkward angle. Sam sobs out an unintended moan at the bittersweet feeling the gesture brings, and then Dean’s sighing and grabbing the edge of the blankets so he can turn around beneath them.

Dean’s arms scoop around Sam and he hooks a foot around Sam’s right ankle to rearrange him easily, pulling Sam so his head is tucked against Dean’s shoulder and chin, skinny leg held between Dean’s strong thighs so Sam is half-sprawled against him, balled up fist opening as it rests against Dean’s chest, feeling Dean’s heart beat steadily beneath the palm. The movement has Sam reeling from how small he suddenly feels in Dean’s arms, the bittersweet nostalgia he’d just been experiencing suddenly replaced with relief and a swell of overwhelming affection. He closes his eyes in something close to bliss.

The arm underneath Sam curls up and Dean’s fingers return to their job of carding through Sam’s hair, his other arm loosely resting against Sam’s waist. Dean’s breath raises faint goosebumps across Sam’s neck and shoulders as he whispers, “Nightmare?”

The nod Sam gives makes Dean’s fingernails scrape against his scalp, and the goosebumps get worse.

“Wanna talk about it?” Dean’s voice is still a whisper, but it feels loud in the quiet room as it rumbles through Dean’s chest, so close to where Sam’s head is resting.

Sam shakes his head in the negative, and Dean’s fingers tighten in Sam’s hair momentarily; disapprovingly.

“Can’t remember it,” Sam mumbles to clarify, his lips barely ghosting over the skin of Dean’s clavicle as he does. A feeling of guilt rushes through him, like he’s lying because of his word choice. He knows from experience he could if he tried. He doesn’t _want_ to.

But past experience tells him Dean doesn’t want him to, either, and he reminds himself of that as he suppresses the feeling. Dean’s fingers continue their path through Sam’s hair, and soon he’s lulled into a doze just this side of sleep. Close enough that he can’t really control it when his mouth opens up and spills out words he meant to keep in his head.

“I miss this.”

“Miss what?” Dean asks, and Sam is too sleep-drugged to notice if Dean’s tone is a little more awake than it should be; a little sharper and more aware than Sam would expect when Dean is being this tactile and affectionate.

“Feeling small,” Sam replies, unfiltered.

Dean’s arms tense around him, fingers pausing their ministrations, and Sam whines in sleepy disapproval. There’s barely a delay before Sam feels Dean’s arms squeeze him closer; feels the pads of Dean’s fingers skate against his lower back as Dean drags his hand up it to splay right in the middle, as if testing the size of his hand against the breadth of Sam. In the nebulous headspace Sam’s in, on the cusp of dreams, Dean’s hand feels so big and strong against him, his whole back warm with the weight of it.

Dean’s thumb starts a soothing stroke where it rests along Sam’s spine, just against the well-worn edge of his shirt collar, and the peach fuzz hairs there raise at the touch.

“You’ll always be my baby brother,” Dean says into Sam’s hair, breath hot against the top of his ear.

Sam is two full breaths away from passing all the way out, but his fingers spasm almost involuntarily for purchase against Dean’s shirtless chest. His fingers find the head of Dean’s amulet, and hook around it, holding on as he finally succumbs to sleep.


End file.
